


Frozen Memories

by Good_Morning_And_Good_Night



Series: Microtubules: What Brings Things Together [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Person Cutting Themselves on Broken Glass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 11:20:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5965435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night/pseuds/Good_Morning_And_Good_Night
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wind, blood and memories do not give a soul rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or realities (unless otherwise stated). I do not make money off of this.
> 
> These characters are mine, if you wish to use them, tell me first and I'll reply and we'll all be happy.
> 
> This is not betaed. If you see any mistakes, I would love for you to kindly point them out.

Annabelle was a single mother of three children, an elder and a pair of twins. They were all gone, and only she remained in her house and a christmas tree. Decorations and photos sprinkled the floor like confetti, obscuring pathways as Annabelle wove her starved snake of a body towards the evergreen. The window was broken, but she didn't care, and she wouldn't start now. Instead, she picked up a cracked red ball ornament. When her eldest was old enough to knock it off the tree.

A photo blew across her lap, old and wrinkled, having been ripped out of its place in the photo album. It was a photo of the happy family, but Anna brushed over it and picked up a chewed up ribbon. Evan´s teething. Her knees ached, so she tied it to the nearest branch. The bow was lopsided, and it looked strange to Anna, but she shrugged it off and reached for something else.

Her hand fell upon a seashell on a string, decorated with lopsided green rhinestones and red string. Emma´s kindergarten class, somewhere around the holidays. It, too, went on the tree. Something dug into her dying foot, and she carelessly plucked it from it's position. It broke in half, but from the part that she had in her hand and hadn´t flown across the room from the surprising force that she used to evict it from its spot, she could see that it was a metal icicle of beads from Evan´s first grade class.

Her eldest child´s old stocking lay farther away from her, and Anna stretched out to reach it, falling over on to the broken glass strewn across the floor, piercing her white skin into rivers of blood. Her eyes teared up from the pain, but she refused to let the salty water fall. Instead, she raised the stocking up as high as she could to put it on the tree.

The branch it swung on bent dangerously down, as if ready to drop what was holding it down. Anna watched it with her eyes as it swung. It kept slipping down the pine needles, and Anna knew it would fall. Her arms didn’t rise to it. Not just yet. When it fell, she saw a photo slip out of the stocking, peeking like a misbehaving child spying on an older sister. Anna turned away from the stocking and the tree and looked at the boxes of toys stacked up like flimsy walls of a fort to protect her from the empty, broken bookshelves and the painful memories.

She didn’t need to see the photo to know who it was of. Nobody else wrote on their photos like that. And she hated him, leaving her family with nothing but old toys and broken furniture. Her children were all grown up and left the house but she still hated him because she was so much worse at economics than him and because he trusted the enemies of the country and left the family with so much less than they had.

Anna struggled to get up from the glass, but soon found that she couldn’t and decided to stare at the ceiling, the paint peeling off in long strips, curling down to the ground like a spiralling pathway 


End file.
